


Against the Soul's Call

by Srrrochka



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Dishonored City Watch, Exposition Galore, First Love, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Honestly I have no clue where this is going, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Dishonored (Video Game), Rating May Change, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Warnings May Change, Young Corvo Attano, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:28:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28159785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Srrrochka/pseuds/Srrrochka
Summary: Geoff Curnow, a young officer at the City Watch, makes friends with the new, very handsome, arrival from Serkonos. Hijinks ensue.[Prequel to a future Soulmate AU the Proper™]
Relationships: Corvo Attano/Geoff Curnow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	Against the Soul's Call

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ExultedShores](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExultedShores/gifts).



> Warning: This chapter contains shooting (not at people) and internalised homophobia.

On nights like this it was hard to keep the sleep from fleeting like a startled bird and even harder to catch it again once it fled. The wind howled through the smallest crack around the windows and pushed angrily on the walls of the City Watch headquarters, making the timber creak like an old ship. The onslaught of rain hammered on the roof in thick sheets like waves on the sea, nearly drowning out the hearty snores of the fellow novice officers on the bunks nearby.

Nearly.

Geoff sighed and turned under the covers for the upteenth time in the last hour but, predictably so, it did nothing to alleviate the sensation of dull, tickling ache that ran deep along the bones in his legs. There was nothing else to be done but walk it out, the prospect of which he wasn't too excited about and it sure wasn't made any more enticing by the draft whistling under the door of the shared dormitory.

Nevertheless, he slipped from under the covers as quietly as he could and, with the chill of the old wooden floor nipping at the skin of his bare feet, dressed swiftly in his Watch issued slacks and high collared shirt, taking the heavy boots with him to put on in the corridor, lest the sound of the thick, stiff soles wakes anyone.

Strictly speaking, it wasn't forbidden to leave when off duty, nor was there a curfew they had to abide by — they were all adults after all — but getting caught by his peers would surely have caused a commotion and many uncomfortable questions or even assumptions, so Geoff preferred to avoid it if possible. He wasn't a person that enjoyed being in the spotlight, neither in a positive nor negative sense, and he knew that they _loved_ to talk, but he also knew staying in bed would drive him stir-crazy.

He closed the door behind himself carefully and let out a breath of relief. The thick green carpet that has clearly seen too many generations of watchmen, judging by the channel of trampled threads dug by countless passersby in the centre and the various stains Geoff would rather not analyse too closely, would muffle his steps easily so he could wander as he pleased. If they were even awake or keeping watch, their superiors would not bother him, he knew that already, having met them many times before on his night walks.

So it was just him and the empty corridors.

There was something deeply disconcerting, he mused as he strolled down the hallway, about places that are meant to be bustling with activity being completely deserted. Disconcerting but also in some strange way calming, as if the world paused for a moment to take a deep breath, as if no one could touch him.

Of course, behind the several closed doors he passed, he knew, lay dozens of sleeping first-years and their seniors who had chosen, just like him, to remain at the Head Office even after the obligatory stay period for new officer recruits had been completed. Despite that, the feeling of detachment and emptiness persisted all the same.

He huffed a laugh under his breath and shook his head. The romantic in him was letting the night affect him while he was only out to stretch his legs. It was still a few hours to sunrise and he was hoping to catch a bit more shuteye before the morning group training started. And if he wanted that to happen he'd better not get carried away.

If it wasn't pouring outside he would have gone out to the grounds confined by the square of the building and maybe make a round about the running track but unfortunately he had to deal with what he had. Maybe going all the way down to the ground floor and then back up would be good enough of a replacement. He could only hope.

The staircase was barely illuminated by the faint light pouring through the windows covered in small droplets of rain, but he knew the way like the back of his hand, having been running up and down these stairs every day for a year and a half. So he stepped confidently into the darkness, fingers gliding on the wood of the handrail polished smooth by decades of use, and his feet easily found purchase on the spots that made the least noise with barely any thought.

The top, third, floor was mostly dormitories and bathrooms divided into wings by gender and rank; the floor below contained classrooms, offices, an archive, and something that in a pinch could be called a library; the first — split into four along the boulding's square shape — housed training rooms filled with dummies, a weapons storage locked up tighter than the Emperor's vault, interrogation rooms, and the cantine; and finally, the ground floor was the reception, various meeting rooms, a huge auditorium they were only allowed in when the entirety of the Watch was to be addressed, and at the back of the building — the kitchens.

The building was old and sprawling, having been built in the Estate District soon after the Watch was first established and designed to be self-contained, eradicating further need for later expansions in the ever growing city.

And it was. Apart from the many Guards and Lower Guards that lived in poorly made and even poorer cared for barracks near the Coldridge Prison. It felt as if the sons and daughters of the rich that became Officers weren't too keen on sharing their space with the common folk. But what did he know?

Geoff huffed in exasperation, deep frown drawing his brows together, and he stomped maybe a little too hard as he continued down on his path through the building. It's just it always made him so mad — the separation between classes, the derogation of people that just wanted to help keep the city safe, as they all did. It would surely have benefited everyone if that thick wall between the citizens was breached even the slightest bit.

_But what did he know?_

He was just a single voice in an ocean of opposition. One man couldn't change anything. All he could ever hope for was doing his job with devotion while staying true to the letter of the law, actual law — not some bent for convenience version of it, and making sure his peers do too.

From the top of the last landing he could see the sharp white light of the electric lamps coming through the big windows that open out onto the street, reflect in the white stone tiles and scatter into a milky haze, giving the spacious, long hallway a bit of an eerie quality. He could walk around to the opposite corner of the headquarters on the way back, he pondered while slowly descending, and take the stairs up from there instead.

Geoff paused at the last step, right foot hovering in midair — frozen halfway to the stone flooring. He thought he'd heard something. A faint sort of hollow crack, like a cinder snapping in half under its own weight in a fireplace. But there were no fireplaces or anything for that matter that could have made the noise.

He stood there for a moment, just listening to the silence marred only by the rain beating down on the windows like a salvo of drum rolls after another. But there was nothing out of the ordinary. It was probably just the wind or pipes, with the storm outside and all, he reassured himself and stepped fully down onto the ground floor.

Before he could go any further, another crack stopped him in his tracks again. He spun around on his heels. The echo in the corridor made it hard to discern the direction the sound came from. It could have been anywhere. But at least now he knew he didn't just imagine it and was prepared for when it appeared again.

The silence stretched longer this time. Yet he waited — still and unmoving, each ear pointing to the either side of the corridor.

From a very early age he was taught the virtue of patience and he took his lessons to heart, what with a large extended family living in the same house and him being the youngest present, he had to — he was always the last one in line for virtually anything, from hand-me-downs to being spared some attention. So he learnt. He adapted. He waited with patience bordering on malice at times. And it usually paid off.

_Crack._

The basement.

Geoff frowned. The basement? There was mostly storage there, a boiler room and other maintenance facilities, and the- the shooting range.

An uneasy feeling twisted in his chest as his head promptly began to swim with an increasing amount of troubling prospects. It was four in the morning. Whatever was happening down there couldn't be for any ethically sound reason. He could picture some first years trying to 'teach a lesson' to a younger, scrawnier kid they found unworthy of being their peer, by standing the unfortunate soul at the target side of the range and pretending to practice their accuracy. It was only a matter of time before something would go wrong.

His face soured as he crept to the quite unassuming door right next to the bottom of the staircase he came from. It was closed and he couldn't see any light from under it, but he knew for certain there was someone there. There were a couple of entrances to the sublevel scattered about the ground floor, maybe the person just has taken a different one.

Or not.

The doorknob turned smoothly and the passage, apparently unlocked, opened like a bottomless black maw of some monstrous creature. What an encouraging thought that was... The maw smelled of mildew and dampness in a distinct way only basements did, and breathed a continuous exhale of chill draft right in his face. Somewhere deep at the bottom was a faint light. So faint that Geoff had to blink several times to make sure it wasn't just an afterimage of something else entirely.

_Crack._

The sound was much more audible now and it was clear that it was a gun being fired, the pauses between each shot — the gun being reloaded.

The young officer hesitated with a hand still on the doorknob. Should he go down in the first place? He was not armed; if a fight broke out he would be at a clear disadvantage. But then again, before he could manage to wake up one of his superiors and lead them there, the person or persons might have already left. Besides, there was no reason for any violence to break out. It wasn't like whoever that was was a civilian that decided to come and have some fun at the shooting range — it most definitely was someone from the Watch. Thus, there was no reason to worry, was there?

Emboldened by his seemingly logical conclusion, he inched down the dark, narrow staircase, keeping the barely visible light in sight. It grew stronger as he continued on through the maze of claustrophobic corridors adorned with thick pipes that ran along the walls and disappeared or reappeared from the ceiling at random intervals.

He knew exactly where he was headed as he's been to the shooting range more times than he could count, but it felt different in the dark — everything off and hiding in the shadows, shifted under the pretense of a different light source. He's never been down in the basement alone before either. But he wasn't alone, was he? The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

He turned a corner and, finally, there it was — the entrance to the shooting range left ajar, with a wide strip of artificial light pouring into the hallway like a brushstroke of liquid gold. Geoff could smell the burnt whale oil all the way from where he was.

Another shot rang in the confined silence of the basement, this time loud enough with proximity to make his ears ring. Apart from that there was barely any noise, even as he got closer, right by the door — just a long pause then a soft shuffle of clothing and a metallic sound of a gun being reloaded and cocked. It sounded slow and deliberate, he thought, like a person making sure their every move is as intended.

Knowing that the hinges never made a single noise, Geoff allowed himself to quietly slip inside. The range comprised of two sections: the first — a small viewing and preparation area with a couple of benches, separated by iron bars painted yellow from the second part — a long hall with low ceiling divided into five lanes, at the beginning of each stood a small table for ease of handling the firearm; at the end, a row of paper targets with a roughly human shape complete with numbered circles on the head and chest.

And then there was a young man standing by the middle lane — tall and lean, dressed similarly to Geoff — in an incomplete Watch uniform the cut of which only helped define his perfectly straight posture. His dark brown, nearly black wavy hair fell loosely to just above the white collar of his shirt, revealing a sliver of tan skin on his neck.

Geoff watched as Corvo Attano prepared his shooting stance, right arm holding the pistol extended in front of him and left foot a bit behind him, aligned the sights with the target, took a couple deep breaths, and pulled the trigger.

And missed.

How long has he been down here? The middle target had barely any bullet holes in it and any that managed to hit were far away from the centre. The other targets had a couple marks too but they were clearly not meant to be there. Geoff knew that Attano, who has been with them only for a couple of weeks, wasn't amazing at shooting but he had no idea it was this bad...

Was that why he was risking the wrath of their superiors by being alone at the shooting range at four in the morning? He was trying to improve? Geoff frowned. Why didn't he just ask for help? Maybe the pride of the golden boy who won the Blade Verbena would get hurt if he wasn't the best at everything.

No, he berated himself, Attano didn't seem to be this kind of a person. Despite clearly being one of the best swordsmen in the Isles, even at this young age, he was rather withdrawn — he didn't talk much, preferred to stay on the outskirts, always calm and watchful, nearly shy. But it wasn't pride that drove him away from the rest of the group; if approached, he was only ever polite and helpful.

There was a chance Attano didn't ask for help simply because he didn't want to bother anyone.

The young officer aimed again, his muscles flexing under the well fitting shirt, and gave another shot that, even through the billows of smoke, clearly was with similar results as before. There were several issues Geoff could identify straight off the bat — some minor, others major enough that they could potentially cause harm to the shooter over time. They would have to be corrected by someone; Attano would not be able to spot them himself or improve with practice alone.

"Attano," Geoff spoke with as even a voice as he could muster before he could load the pistol again.

The man in question whipped around, brown eyes, encircled by thick dark lashes, round like two full moons. With the free hand he instinctively reached for a sword at his belt that wasn't there. His long fingers twitched and then curled into a fist at the absence. He stared at Geoff motionlessly, lips parting as if to say something and his entire posture rigid with tension, clearly unsure what to do. A shadow of panic, like a feral animal caught in a corner, passed his features but then quickly subsided into a sort of foreboding embarrassment, as if found to be too telling of an emotion and pushed deeper under the mask of control.

Still not having found the correct words, without turning he slowly put the pistol down on the table next to him, disarming himself completely. That was quite thoughtful, it occurred to Geoff — he remained calm and deescalated the situation so no one gets hurt. Good.

"Would you like some tips?" Geoff asked finally with a start of a smile, letting the tension between them ease. A few unhurried steps led him towards Attano, who watched his every move like a hawk.

Only this close up did Geoff realise just how tall the Serkonan officer was, he easily had a good half a head over him. And it didn't seem like the feeling of being towered over stemmed simply from the physical height. For a person this quiet, he sure had a... presence about him.

Corvo frowned, evidently perplexed by the offer. "I would appreciate that," he answered slowly with a voice low and smooth, his eyes searching Geoff's face intently. "But I didn't really expect..." he trailed off.

"You thought I'd snitch on you," Geoff filled in for him and, when Attano didn't react, he continued, "Understandable, you really shouldn't be here but... Well, I do get your need for improvement. And..." he took a deep breath and, while pointedly regarding the paper targets with a raised eyebrow, on a slow exhale said, "there is, uh, a lot of room for it."

"There is," Corvo chuckled softly and a few strands of hair fell over his eyes, which he quickly brushed behind his ear. All the amusement soon faded, though, as he assessed his work with a stern look. "What do you want in return?"

"What?" Geoff blurted out.

Attano shot him a look. "I said-"

"No, I know, it's just- Why would I want anything?"

"It's- You-" Attano seemed just as confused as Geoff felt — his brows furrowed deeply and dark brown eyes squinted down at him. "You're doing me a favour," he said in a tone that clearly meant to explain everything.

"Yes? And?" Geoff asked with a tilt of his head.

The man threw a quick glance down at Geoff's hands and suddenly he understood how stupid he was being. Of course. He doesn't have a soulmate. There was no reason for him to be nice to Attano. There was no white mark that would appear on someone's hands from him doing a good selfless deed. Which apparently, to him, meant this was not selfless.

What kind of world did Corvo come from that a simple gesture of friendliness was immediately interpreted as a deal, a trade?

"Listen, I don't like owing people," Corvo supplied when the silence between them stretched.

Geoff winced inwardly. "So, I understand you're not going to accept a 'I don't want anything'?"

"You might not right now, but you will eventually. Everyone does."

Those words, delivered with an absolute, grave certainty, made something twist unpleasantly in Geoff's stomach. "Fine, alright, uh..." He took a deep breath, trying to chase away the distracting queasiness, and attempted to rack his brain for something he could possibly want from a person he didn't know whatsoever.

There was nothing he needed. Collecting trinkets wasn't really his thing, maybe besides books, but even if it was he could just buy anything he wanted — coming from a pretty wealthy family had its perks after all. He didn't mind doing his chores around the Head Office. He didn't really need help with anything...

Or did he?

The answer was so painfully obvious, now that he had it, it felt quite stupid it didn't occur to him instantly. He knew one thing about Corvo Attano. "Could you train sword fighting with me in return?" Geoff offered. "I'm sure I have just as much to learn from you, if not more."

Geoff didn't know what the other expected to happen but it must have been much worse than what he proposed because his expression softened, tension he previously didn't notice, leaving the corners of his eyes, as if pleasantly surprised.

"Yeah, that's... Sure. Of course," he agreed, the air of his soft kind of insecurity returning to him.

"Perfect," Geoff replied good-naturely with a wide smile and, against himself, wrenched his eyes away from Corvo down to the table where a pack of ammunition and the pistol lay. He picked the latter up and inspected it thoroughly, more for the sake of gathering his thoughts rather than the necessity.

The gun was an old style single-shot model, a bit heavy and clunky, but really good for practice with its strong kickback. The wooden handle was smooth and worn in the same way as the handrails of the building itself and probably nearly as old. It fit snugly in Geoff's hand.

"How long have you been watching me anyway?" Corvo asked and shot Geoff an inquisitive look.

"Not long. Ten minutes at best," he estimated. "Long enough to pick up some problems we can easily fix." He spun the pistol around effortlessly and extended it butt-side to Corvo. "Here. Show me your stance."

The young man eyed him uncertainly for a moment, clearly too aware of his shortcomings, but broke through it quickly and picked up the gun from Geoff's loose grip.

With but a whisper of a fabric rustling, even in an environment that amplified noises so strongly, he shifted into the position. The stance wasn't exactly incorrect, Geoff mused as he regarded the line of Corvo's body from the tip of his head to the angle of his feet, but it felt like a simple imitation of something observed and not properly explained.

"Alright, let's start with the recoil." Geoff stepped in closer, a list of corrections already forming in his head, and, having easily slipped into the teaching mode, reached out to touch Attano's dominant arm. His fingers were almost on his sleeve when he stopped himself. "May I?"

"Of course."

Geoff wrapped his fingers loosely around Corvo's gloved wrist. "When you're shooting with your elbow and shoulder locked like this there is nowhere for the shock to absorb. It's a straight line of tension," to illustrate his words, with his free hand, he drew a line coming from Corvo's palm all the way to his sternum, "which might throw off your aim or even hurt you." With a gentle pressure, while still holding his wrist, he bent Corvo's elbow just a fraction, enough to unlock it and make it mobile again.

"You can also further remedy that," he continued, "especially with heavier pistols, like this one, or bigger weapons by leaning forward a bit and bending your dominant side's knee." Geoff's hands shifted to Corvo's side and shoulder, moving him to a correct position. "Nose over toes. Easy to remember," he smiled up at the man, only to realise he was... nearly chest to chest with him.

It shouldn't have been a problem. No, it wasn't a problem at all. There wasn't anything wrong about this situation, definitely not for Attano. Don't make it weird, Curnow.

Without missing a beat, he stepped back and redirected his gaze down at Corvo's feet, avoiding his eyes like the plague. He pointed at his left leg and pressed on, "Move your back foot perpendicular to the target for a better purchase," he directed, putting his own foot that way as he explained. "And that's it, that's your stance. Of course, there are several styles you can use, each with different application, this one being more stationary, and-"

"Geoff," Corvo interrupted with a soft voice, silencing him instantly. "One step at a time."

Geoff cleared his throat. "Right, sorry." He genuinely hoped that his rapid-fire babble registered more as getting carried away than... anything else.

"At ease," he ordered after gathering his thoughts and watched Corvo relax. "Now try to return to this stance." Repetition. Repetition is important, Geoff. Focus. "Perfect, that's great. Now, show me how you shoot."

The young officer reached to the table for the box of bullets but paused mid-motion when Geoff lifted his hand to stop him.

"Oh, no need for that. Dry is enough."

Corvo narrowed his eyes at him. "Dry?"

"You don't always need ammo for training. Dry shooting actually has its perks, but I'll get back to that later," he said and waved his hand dismissively. "So basically pretend it's loaded and go on how you usually would."

The ever analyzing brown eyes studied him for a moment as if Corvo expected it all to be a joke, but eventually he decided to go along with it and cocked the empty gun, then moved to the correct position just as he was taught. He closed his left eye, aimed carefully and pulled the trigger. The hammer jerked forward with nothing but a low click.

"Ah, did you notice something?" Geoff asked, trying not to be smug about his hunch.

Corvo lowered the pistol, deep in thought. "I moved," he noted.

"Exactly. It's a natural flinch reaction to accomodate for the kickback but, again, it can throw you off the mark quite severely," Geoff explained. "Fortunately, you can train that out. The easiest way is to make every other shot dry so you're not expecting the kickback constantly."

"Another thing..." Geoff took Corvo's hand with the pistol still in it and turned it to display the side of the gun. "See how deep you're holding the trigger? It will tilt the whole pistol when you're shooting. It goes both ways too — too shallow and it will tilt the other direction."

"How do I know what is right?"

"You sort of need to... feel it out?" He grimaced and let his hand fall to his side. "I know, that's not very helpful. Just try until you find the right spot for you. It's all about practice with this one."

With his other hand coming up to support the barrel of the pistol, Corvo tilted it one way then the other, to have a closer look at his grip. The muscles in his forearm moved under the shirtsleeve as his wrist rotated.

"I, uh- I think that might be it for now?" Geoff said uncertainly, his head feeling annoyingly empty. "Do you have any questions?"

Corvo lifted his eyes to him in a nondescript look. "No, I think I got it."

"Give it a go?" Geoff suggested.

Corvo nodded and loaded the gun with a single bullet from the faintly glowing box. His gloved fingers made an easy work of it and soon he returned to the shooting position again, this time much quicker than before. Geoff watched for any issues they already discussed but, with a tiny flutter of pride, he noted that everything seemed to be in order. There still were a couple other things but he thought it might be better not to overwhelm Corvo with information.

A loud bang rang through the shooting range, making his ears ring again. The smell of burnt whale oil, sharp and nearly metallic, stung at his nose but, through the swiftly fading cloud of smoke, Geoff could see that Corvo actually managed to hit the edge of the chest target — the closest he's been yet.

Corvo's eyes widened, clearly shocked by his unexpected success. He looked down at the pistol in his hands, back at the paper target and then at Geoff. His eyes glistened with excitement.

"Good job! You learn so quickly!" Geoff praised with a wide grin splitting his face. With the flutter of pride growing bigger in his chest, he couldn't even begin to hide the excitement in his own voice. "You'll still need to practise, of course," he added, "but at least now you're not going to shoot your own head off."

Corvo rolled his eyes at him and placed the pistol on the table. "Come on, I'm not that bad."

Geoff only raised his eyebrows and gestured widely at the row of paper targets — all of which had signs of being shot at.

"That was intended," Corvo said with a set expression and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Right." Geoff tried and failed miserably to stop himself from smiling and shook his head. Corvo was... He was so much more than Geoff had originally anticipated. Once past his thick shell of withdrawal, he was really fun to be around — smart and funny, and surprisingly emotive. He wouldn't mind spending more time with him. And yet, as if to spite his thoughts, he instead said, "We should be going. It's getting late."

Without waiting for a reply, he moved to grab a broom and clear out the empty shells, while Corvo after a short moment of watching him went to exchange the targets for fresh ones. They cleaned up the range in a relative silence, putting all of the equipment away as well as they could in hopes of not being found out.

Geoff was dusting off his hands on his trousers, having a last look over the place, when Corvo spoke up behind him.

"Would you- Would you mind practicing with me again sometime?" He sounded very self-conscious, as if asking that was wrong in some way, and when Geoff turned to him, he dropped his eyes to his feet.

"Sure. But maybe not at five in the morning next time," Geoff teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"No, of course not," Corvo chuckled softly and smiled at Geoff with a spark in his deep brown eyes.

* * *

The young Curnow sighed into his porridge. Only a few other people came down to the cantine so soon after the morning training, so he sat alone at his usual spot on the bench by the wall and with a spoon absently chased a glob of strawberry jam about his bowl. The curl of his fringe, still damp after the shower, kept falling onto his forehead and he kept slicking it back with growing frustration.

It wasn't that he was frustrated because of his hair — he was frustrated because of the entirety of himself. And yet he couldn't change. He's tried, he's tried so hard for so long — years and years of doing his best to train this behaviour, those feelings out of himself, weed them out and smother them before they manage to grow out of control.

But it never worked.

And it wasn't working now either — the entire morning his thoughts kept returning to the gentle curve of Corvo's beautiful smile, to the small lines at the corners of his eyes when he laughed, to the feeling of his taunt, chiseled muscles moving under the thin linen shirt, under Geoff's fingers.

Geoff grimaced over his cold food and glared at it with completely undeserved disgust.

It was not only incredibly inappropriate but also so unfair to Corvo himself. He needed a friend, not... this. The fact that Geoff's perverse mind decided to immediately latch onto the undeniably handsome man was not his fault and Geoff should be ashamed.

And he was. He was so incredibly ashamed he wished the Void would swallow him whole right where he sat. But of course it wouldn't happen. There were no such mercies. He'll just have to try harder.

With a loud cling of the spoon hitting ceramic, Geoff pushed his bowl away, sighed an exasperated sigh and leaned back, plastering his back to the cold wall.

"Someone's cranky," Yana laughed and fell onto the seat opposite of him, her own bowl clutched tight in her grip. She puckered her lips and took up a whiny tone she knew he despised. "Got up on the wrong side of the bed, have we?"

Geoff rolled his eyes. "Shove off, hedgehog."

"Excuse me?!" she blanched in mock offense, mouth wide open in an exaggerated gasp, then ran her fingers through her short blond hair, equally as wet as Geoff's, making it stand up even spikier than before. "Latest fashion, honey, get on with the times."

"Right," Geoff huffed a laugh in response but his face fell again nearly immediately.

"No, really, what's going on?" Yana asked and leaned towards him over the table, the act dropping to reveal genuine worry. "It's not like you to be in such a foul mood."

Geoff gritted his teeth. For a split second he thought he might finally crack and tell her. They've been close friends for a while, nearly constantly attached at the hip since they started their training at the Watch. He knew he could trust her with his life. But maybe not with this... The thought of his best friend looking at him in disgust, maybe even hatred, turning away from him just because he liked men, filled him with such horrible dread it nearly made him nauseous.

"It's nothing. Just couldn't sleep again," he said finally, fingers picking at the raised grains of wood in the table. It wasn't really a lie, now was it?

Yana narrowed her eyes at him, clearly not quite believing his words, but didn't press further. Instead she leaned back in her seat and picked up her spoon again to take a bite of her porridge.

"You really should get that checked out at some point," she said around a mouthful of oats.

"I will, don't worry," he waved her off. It wasn't the first time she tried to convince him to go to a doctor but his answer was always the same. And he meant it, he really did. It's just there was never an opportune time. Life of a Watch officer was a busy one and they both knew it.

"Is this seat taken?"

Geoff nearly jumped when a low, familiar voice came from his right side. He looked up and, with no input of his own, a wide grin grew on his face. He moved over on the bench to give Corvo a bit more space, heart beating wildly in his chest. "No, go ahead."

_Outsider's eyes, Curnow, behave._


End file.
